


Alone

by TeamThor



Series: Thorbruce week 2019 - my contributions [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Bruce Banner, Bruce & Hulk Interaction, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Civil War inspired, Hulk Hugs (Marvel), Hulk is a good Bro, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Thor (Marvel), M/M, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Thor (Marvel), ThorBruce Week 2019, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-01-26 08:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamThor/pseuds/TeamThor
Summary: In the wake of the Accords, Thor and Bruce are captured by Thaddeus Ross, separated from one another by a wall of steel and metal. But they have each other.At least, until they don't.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Thor
Series: Thorbruce week 2019 - my contributions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541440
Comments: 17
Kudos: 110
Collections: Just Marvel Ships, Thorbruce Week 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of Thorbruce week, the prompt is Alone  
Also posted to my Tumblr  
Enjoy the angst!

Thor was yelling again. 

Bruce didn't know how he managed it - keeping up with threat after threat long after the demigod’s voice should've gone hoarse from overuse. Fists that should've tired hours ago still pounded on the wall in front of them, arcs of lightning that should've been draining Thor of energy still appeared occasionally from the corner of Bruce’s vision. 

He could only imagine how Thor looked now. Probably ragged, although less ragged than him. He'd always held this princely aura about him, even when he was muddling round the tower, barefoot, stumbling his way towards a coffee machine. He was always regal, in a frustratingly handsome way that only the prince of a space kingdom could pull off. 

So, ragged, but not too ragged. Angry, that was a certainty given the amount of times he'd heard Thor's voice threatening to tear Ross's arms from his shoulders in the past few hours. Bruce reckoned Thor was about four more hours away from asking to speak to a manager. Maybe tearing someone's arms off was the Asgardian equivalent of that - Bruce didn't really know. He'd ask Thor for confirmation, but his own voice didn't seem to carry through the walls as well as Thor's booming tones did. He'd have to scream for Thor to even hear him, and as of right now his energy was focused solely on shaking whatever tranquilizer they'd pumped into his system so he could hulk out and get them out of there. 

The thudding started again, the buzzing of static and the flickering lights above that was the sign of a thunderstorm. A sign of metal that creaked with the false hope of escape, of scorch marks lining the irritatingly pristine white floors of the prison. 

This should've given him hope, he knew that much. Thor was yelling, he was angry, which meant he wasn't dead or hurt - Ross hadn't managed to even lay a finger on him yet. But the yelled words held a sense of fragility that was somehow even worse.  
Thor was faltering, words slipping back into the Shakespearean dialect from what seemed like so long ago, when the earth was still Midgard and Midgard was still uncertain and scary and wrong. 

Thor might've been angry, but Bruce could tell. He was also afraid. 

He wished he could see him. Could place a hand against the glass and tell him things would be alright, tell him to save his energy and stop hitting the walls, to smooth his hair and let him be vulnerable again. Bruce wanted to wipe the blood from his knuckles and ask him to trust him, just this once.  
Hulk would appear. Or Tony, or Cap, or hell, maybe even Asgard would take issue with their capture. But someone would come for them. They weren't going to be left alone in this. 

But as it stood now, all he could do was listen. Place a hand against the wall and feel the buzzing of static as Thor conjured blast after blast against it. He let it ground him, keep his mind tethered to his body. And when his chest felt too tight to breathe or the lights above stung his eyes, he could focus on that - the ever present reminder that Thor was still here, still with him. 

Thor had told him once, when the Bifrost was glowing and Asgard was calling his name, that the storms above were for him. 

'Every time the rain falls and the sky lights up with thunder,' Thor had kissed his hand then, wiping away his tears with his thumb. 

'Every time it storms, Bruce Banner, I will be thinking of you.' 

He shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall of the cell to somehow get closer to the sound. As if he could push himself through the wall itself and land, safely, in the eye of the storm. Bruised fingers clung to whatever surface he could, as another arc of lightning flashes in front of the cells. 

He wasn't alone. Thor was here. 

He wasn't alone. 

***

The next day dawned, and Bruce could feel his mind beginning to clear. Memories started to come back to him, conversations and papers and places that had all led to this moment. To him, on his knees inside of a cage, owned by a man he'd never expected to see again. 

Ross had been in at some point during the night. He'd marked when the arcs of lightning had reached almost vicious proportions, casting the senator’s face an eerie shade of blue as he'd spat out threats and gloats to him. Muffled by glass, he'd heard Thor's voice, yelling promises of his own. 

'You don't touch him.' Thor had all but snarled, eyes ablaze with enough voltage to light up a city, fists curled tighter until there were imprints of his nails against his hands.  
'He's under my protection, and so help me God, you will not harm him.'

Ross had smiled curtly at that, promising Bruce to pick up where he left off last time. He'd heaved out a sigh, when all he really wanted to do was scream. He wanted to pound his fists against the glass, to cry out that this wasn't right, that he was a person, not some lab experiment that Ross could do what he liked with.  
But that would take energy. Energy that could be better spent saving them. And so, he'd remained quiet. He'd bitten his tongue and tried to push back the memories of a bloodstained childhood where even the slightest sniff was an invitation for violence. 

Thor tried to comfort him, as best he could. Whispered comforts barely reached his ears through the walls, but they reached. They were there. He heard every single one of those oaths, declarations that soon, Banner, we'll be back at home, and you can wear that sweater that you like, and I'll make us some tea, and we can watch the stars or a movie or even just each other - but it won't matter, because we'll be home. 

He'd held onto those words, let them cover him like a blanket. Home had been such a foreign concept to him up until a few years ago. Home had been somewhere he could never get back to, a person who he'd lost forever. He'd had houses, rickety things that barely served a purpose except to keep the rain off of his back. But home, his home, that was all too new. 

Thor hadn't seemed like he'd be a home to him, not at first. No, at first he'd been loud. He'd been shouting battle cries, smashing hammers into walls, and seemed to try and distance himself from earth whenever he could - through stubbornly wearing his armour to press junkets to refusing to relinquish his peculiar manner of speaking. 

But, then they'd gotten closer, somehow. 

He'd seen vulnerability. Armour that wasn't used to distance but to protect, outlandish capes and bright fabrics that drew people's eyes to the style, rather than to the man wearing it. The right amount of chainmail made someone seem braver than they were, even when they didn't feel like it. And the language, it became a safety net. A turn of phrase that had been drilled into him since childhood (a childhood that began long before Bruce's ancestors had even landed in America) to prevent him from stumbling. 

Thor had become a person, in his eyes. A kind, warm-hearted person. He was a friend, someone to trust, and then through time and misadventure had somehow become more than that. 

Bruce's hand wandered over to the grate, as the lights dimmed and night fell back over the prison. He reached for the static, for the company, and imagined Thor was doing the same. Imagined that maybe, just maybe, Asgardians had some innate ability to sense radiation, and that Thor could feel him, too. 

Thor wasn't alone. Bruce was there. 

Thor wasn't alone. 

***

Days passed, with Bruce's brain piecing itself back together. It was a slow process, often painful at times, but it marked a sense of progress. An unrelenting movement forward, despite how his memories tried to drag him back into the shadows. 

At some point, Hulk's voice began to creep back into the corners of his mind, sluggish with sleep. Too weak to change bodies again, that much had been established. But it was a comfort, being able to talk to someone who he knew could hear him. 

He talked to Thor every day, but he knew in his heart that Thor couldn't hear him. The walls were too thick, the barriers too great. He passed on messages from Hulk, for a short while. Mostly surrounding the topic 'Is Blondie ok? Why can't see Blondie? Is he there? Can he see us?'

Bruce had tried to calm his worries as best he could.  
'Yes, Thor's fine. We can't see him because of the wall. Yes, Thor's there. He can't see us because of the wall.'

'How does Banner know?' Hulk had grumbled, worry ringing in his voice as much as he'd tried to hide it. 

'Look, we can feel it.' Bruce touched a green-veined hand to the grate, letting out a slow and careful breath as the bite of static reached his fingertips, the sensation crawling nearly to his elbow.  
'That means Thor's there. And that he's ok.' 

Hulk had seemed satisfied with that, and had drawn back into the depths of Bruce's mind. Doctor's orders - plenty of rest, and all that. 

He hadn't had the heart to tell him that there was usually more ways to tell that Thor was there. He didn't want to scare him more than he assumed he already was, even though he knew Hulk could probably tell something was up. 

Hulk didn't have to know that Thor had stopped talking two days ago. He didn't have to know that Bruce could usually hear every word he'd said, because when it was Thor, how could you not? Hulk didn't have to worry over why Thor had gone silent, but was still in the room. Didn't have to conjure images of what could've happened to him, what was powerful enough to silence a God. 

Bruce could make those assumptions himself. Let the worry eat him alive, and spare the part of him that could get them out of here. 

As long as he had the storm, he had hope. And as long as he had hope, so did Hulk. 

A part of him wondered about what would happen if his worries turned out to be real. About what Hulk would do if confronted with another loss. He'd already experienced so much in such a short time - he was born from it, forged in it. Mjolnir had been crafted from a dying star, or so Thor had said. And in the same way, Hulk was crafted from the fires of Bruce's life. Symbols of peace and protection that had equal capacity to create and destroy. 

The more poetic of people would describe that as destiny. As the pull of soulmates that plummeted Thor to earth in the first place. 

Bruce called it luck, that Thor had found them. And that he had found him, in turn. Of course Thor had wanted to believe in fate and Norns and prophecies, and Bruce was happy to entertain him. He was more than happy to receive long winding ballads and compliments that somehow managed to compare his eyes and his smile to the stars scattered across galaxies. He didn't understand them, but he liked them. He liked the way Thor made him feel. He liked Thor, full stop. 

Laying in the corner of the cell, Bruce found his fingers wrapping tighter around the metal, with an intensity that almost roused Hulk from his slumber. He hushed him back down, and tormented himself with the thought that he really didn't want Thor to go. 

Thor was a supernova, trapped in a thin layer of skin and muscle. He was storms, he was rain, he was lightning shooting up the string of Benjamin Franklin's kite and key. He was a creature born of the universe. He didn't deserve to die inside a cage, separated from what he loved by concrete and machinery.

'I'm here, Thor. I'm here. Don't give up on us, please.' Bruce whispered into the grate, shutting his eyes against rapidly forming tears.

'We're not alone.'

***

'BannerBannerBruceBruceBruceBruceWakeUpWAKEUPWAKE-'

Bruce shot forward, gasping for air as he was forcefully yanked out of what little sleep he'd managed to get. For a few terrifying seconds, all he heard was a pounding in his head. The rush of blood roaring past his ears like white water rapids, filling the empty space with an unbearable static. He clamped his hands over his ears, drawing in breaths like a fisherman trying to pull in a shark. 

'Hulk?' He groaned, coiling his hands first into his hair, and then letting them fall to trace patterns down his face until they landed in his lap, hugging his knees close to his chest.  
'What is it? I told you, we need rest so we can get out of here.'

'Important.' Hulk grunted, and Bruce felt a phantom sensation crawling across his spine - hands that were too big trying to hold him into consciousness. 

'What's important?'

'Thor gone.'

Bruce sighed, shaking his head slowly. He began the painstaking journey across the floor of the cell, over to the wall, as he repeated back his usual mantra to the boiling presence inside his mind. 

'I told you, he's not gone. You just can't hear him because of the walls.' For the first time in a few days, Bruce was able to clamber to his feet, shivering at the feeling of cold tiles against bare skin that reminded him somehow of every hospital he'd visited.  
'If the static is there, he's there.'

'Static gone! Thor gone! Why Banner not listen?' 

'It's not gone, your skin is probably just too thick to feel it. Look.' 

Bruce reached out his hand to the grate, trying as best he could to roll his eyes and remain the passive scientist Hulk already thought he was. His bruised fingertips traced the wires and patterns inlaid into the wall, following the trail to what he knew would be the comforting buzz awaiting him. Awaiting them both. Hulk would see that Thor was fine, and since he was being so talkative they could attempt a transformation. Providing that went well, they'd leave, and go back to the promises of tea and stars and blankets and comfort and -

Bruce's blood ran cold. His fingers touched metal that was cold and unresponsive. No resonance. No sound. Nothing. 

'Where Thor?' Hulk's voice was timid now. Asking a question he almost didn't want to know the answer to. 

'I...I don't know.' Bruce swallowed nervously, trying to bite back the tide of emotions currently pooling in his stomach.  
'He's supposed to be here. They didn't take him out while I was asleep, did they?'

'No. Would've heard.' 

"Thor?" Bruce managed to croak out, his voice hoarse from disuse.  
He pressed up against the vent, ignoring the shooting pain of the metal biting into his ear.  
"Thor, are you there? I can't...we can't hear you. Please, can you say something?"

Nothing. 

"Thor, please." Tears were running down his face before he even had time to register them, as he pulled himself impossibly closer. 

Please, Thor. Please. 

Don't leave me alone.


	2. Prison Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'We have to help him. And I need you to get us out of here, big guy. You think you can do that for me?’
> 
> ‘Hulk tired.’ 
> 
> ‘I know.’ Bruce snapped, and immediately regretted it when the presence seemed to shrink away again. He sighed, shaking his head mutedly, his voice falling to softer tones. 
> 
> ‘I know, Hulk. And I promise after this is over, we can take a break. As long as we like. But I just need you to do this one thing for me’.
> 
> Hulk stilled for a moment, the corners of his mind growing quiet. 
> 
> And then his bones began to ache, but for once, the familiar battle for dominance and control wasn’t being held. He stepped back, with a slow and careful breath, passing the torch over to the one thing strong enough to get them out of there. 
> 
> ‘You got this, big guy. Let’s go get our demigod back.’
> 
> ‘And smash Ross.’
> 
> ‘Yeah.’ Bruce felt himself grinning as he relinquished control of the wheel. 
> 
> ‘Smash Ross.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel time baby!   
This is also a christmas exchange gift with @cozyastronaut on tumblr, and Ancalime1 on ao3. Enjoy!

He didn’t know how long they’d both been there. There was a lot about their current situation that he found he didn’t know, really. Their location, for a start. He couldn’t feel anything of the outside air, as if the sky itself had been closed off from him. Thor hadn’t felt like that since...well, since Odin had cast him out, really.

At least he knew Bruce was beside him. He couldn’t see the scientist - or his green companion, but being Asgardian had its privileges. The weather may have been barred from him, but Bruce’s breathing rang true in his ears if he wished to listen to it. The coolness of the metal against his cheek as he placed his ear to the wall, the soft tones of Bruce trying to talk to him - and his ability to talk back. It made the whole ordeal a lot less unbearable.

He was sure he would’ve been fine if it had been just that. Just a prison, a monitoring, nothing more. But of course, fate wasn’t so kind to him. Not when he woke one day from a sleep he didn’t remember entering, staring with abject horror at the machinery that was now lining his arms. Metal coils circling him like snakes, and he felt the freezing material of something against the back of his neck. 

And Ross was there, standing in front of him, toying with some kind of activator in his hand.

Thor's voice was hoarse, with disuse and something he'd swear wasn't fear. It wasn't. He was Thor, God of Thunder. And he was not scared of a man in a pressed suit with a trimmed mustache. 

"I know you must feel very powerful with us being here,"

He nodded in the direction of where Bruce's cell was, trying his best to picture him alive and well and not the cold, shaking figure that haunted his dreams in the few hours of sleep he'd been able to get. 

"Very powerful, and very strong. But please, listen to me. This is a bad idea. You don't know what you're doing."  
He swallowed, taking a few steps towards the glass - or as many as his now limited mobility would allow.   
“I don’t even know how these powers work - not really. I thought I did when I had mjolnir, but now I don’t, and I have no idea what’s going to happen if you press that button. You...You can’t do this.”

Ross, for a moment, seemed to consider this. In the face of the unnatural, on the brink of accessing a raw force of nature, he did what any human would do. When faced with the passage to the northern seas, with the mountainous ice caps that loomed over ships and the biting wind that froze fingers and cracked skin - people had hesitated before drawing out the maps.   
They'd considered the pros and the cons, used their heads, used caution. 

Ross's fingers wavered above the control panels, his face set in stone. 

Thor shook his head mutely, the eloquent phrases and elaborate threats and ominous forebodings he'd picked up from a cave somewhere long ago boiling down into one word. One syllable. 

"Please." 

Ross frowned. The air was still. 

Until he pressed down, and Thor's world tilted in the corner of his vision, dissolving into a burning white that for a moment seemed suspended between the here and now. For a moment, nothing touched him. His body was not his own. 

Until it was.  
Until his soul was dragged, screaming back into his body, and he felt every jolt that ran through his veins.

Standing tall through that storm was a feat that none could have achieved. The strongest ships still stood a chance of sinking, the most hardened sailors could still drown when faced with cold waters. 

Thor didn't want to drown. 

Not with Bruce on the other side of the wall. Not when their miraculous escape hadn't happened yet, and he still had promised left to fulfill - tales of tea and warmth and some old sappy movie that he still needed to tell. 

For a moment, the thought of it worked.   
And then the pain redoubled, and he didn't have moments anymore. 

***

The grate was cold, and Bruce was panicking. 

Of course, maybe it was a little late in the day to start panicking. Given that he was being held by General Ross who had made his plans to dissect him abundantly clear in the past. But, he’d always had Thor. His rage, his sorrow, his storms echoing off of the sides of the chamber. The creeping feeling of static that seemed to sink through his skin itself had always been there, right when he needed it.

And now it wasn’t. 

He didn’t have the booming tones of his demi-god. His spaceman. He didn’t have anything to prove that he was even alive- 

Bruce’s breath caught in a throat that was growing tighter by the minute, and for a few moments he teetered on the edge of the abyss, his mind reeling and the corners of his eyes growing wet and hot. 

“No.”   
He sniffed, wiping his face and attempting to set his features into something cold - something strong. Unbreakable. 

‘Hulk, now’s the time. We can’t wait any longer - we’re leaving.’

The larger than life presence shrunk further into the back of his mind, but Bruce wasn’t giving up. Not now. He reached out, pressed at something until it was painful, grabbed the remnants of a flaming childhood by the shoulders and stared his giant in the eyes - metaphorically speaking, of course. 

‘I know you’re cold. And I know you’re hurting, and I wish I could take that away from you. But Thor needs our help - he might be hurt, or scared, or…’

Bruce didn’t want to finish the sentence, but Hulk seemed to understand. The presence that had been retreating rapidly into the back of his mind froze, turned, metaphorical ears turned back to Bruce to listen. 

‘Blondie not dead,’ Hulk mumbled, and Bruce caught the faintest of tremors in that cavern - deep voice. 

‘No, I know. I’m sorry for scaring you.’   
Bruce cradled his hand to his chest, tracing his thumb feather-light over the freshly made wounds - still glaring and red even under the shadow of artificial night. 

‘But we have to help him. And I need you to get us out of here, big guy. You think you can do that for me?’

‘Hulk tired.’ 

‘I know.’ Bruce snapped, and immediately regretted it when the presence seemed to shrink away again. He sighed, shaking his head mutedly, his voice falling to softer tones. 

‘I know, Hulk. And I promise after this is over, we can take a break. As long as we like. But I just need you to do this one thing for me’.

Hulk stilled for a moment, the corners of his mind growing quiet. 

And then his bones began to ache, but for once, the familiar battle for dominance and control wasn’t being held. He stepped back, with a slow and careful breath, passing the torch over to the one thing strong enough to get them out of there. 

‘You got this, big guy. Let’s go get our demigod back.’

‘And smash Ross.’

‘Yeah.’ Bruce felt himself grinning as he relinquished control of the wheel. 

‘Smash Ross.’

***

And a few dark seconds later, Bruce was stumbling onto the floor, faced with a different problem. He hadn’t even gotten that much prompting - in fact, he’d been all for leaning into this more recent development when abruptly he’d been shoved back into reality, broken glass digging into the skin of his knees as his world reformed itself before his eyes.

‘Hulk? What the hell happened?’ 

‘Blondie wrong.’

‘What?’

Hulk made one final pushing motion, green eyes blinking away the last of the blurriness, leaving Bruce face to face with the problem.

Thor was standing in the center of the cell, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, the familiar ocean blue blocked out entirely by a pulsing glow of white.   
Sparks of lightning flew from his body - a body that was bruised, broken, and teetering as if it was on the edge of collapse. Bruce wasn’t even sure what was holding Thor up at this point. If it was the electrodes that lined his demi-gods arms, or if it was the lightning - each fork forcing him ram-rod straight, suspended like a puppet from glowing strings. 

“Thor?”  
Bruce managed to croak out, taking one tentative step inward.  
“Can you hear me?”

If he could, he made no sign of it. Just kept staring at that point in the ceiling - the only real movement being the occasional twitch of his hands.

A sharp jolt ran through Thor’s body as an arc of lightning surged, and for a moment, Bruce worried for the stability of the room. The electrodes buzzed, lights flickered, and it was then he remembered that scene on the bridge. The clouds darkening, the golden spires of Asgard being torn apart by an unnatural storm - that had been Thor. 

It was difficult to remember that, sometimes. To look at the man who had spent 5 months marvelling over the invention of the frappuccino, who wore pyjama bottoms printed with the Hulk’s face, and see a storm of nature.

It made all the news reports seem somehow even more fake. He’d heard the words that they’d said about him, obviously. Bulletins that scrolled across screens, screaming of alien invasions and freak weather conditions and interdimensional conquerors.  
Seeing Thor like that was hard. 

Confronting the raw force of an elemental God was somehow even harder. 

Because Thor was there. He was right in front of him, he was there.  
But at the same time, he wasn’t. 

This wasn’t Thor. Thor wasn’t an unfeeling storm, a force of destruction and only destruction. He’d always been so much more than what people expected him to be. A warrior, a prince, an Avenger. Throughout all of it he’d even managed to be a friend. And then something closer than that.   
It may have been strange, but despite the pain of it all, Bruce was beginning to feel a little bit brave. 

Thor was still in there. And someone needed to save him. 

Bruce Banner tightened his jaw, stepping further into the eye of the storm. 

Working in the fields he did, Bruce had learned a few things about routine, and it’s importance. About taking things slow - not lethargic, but slow. Careful. Following instructions, and biting back the panic that was threatening to boil over.   
Bruce was a doctor, at the end of the day. He didn’t get those phd’s for nothing, after all.   
And if treating Thor as a patient was what was going to get them through this, then that’s what he would do. 

Carefully, Bruce walked forward. Carefully, he stepped over broken glass and warped metal, his eyes catching sight of the grate that connected the two cells together - burned beyond repair. 

Carefully, Bruce raised his arms, cupping Thor’s face in his hands, looking for any sign of life within the burning lightning. 

Looking for anything that could remind him of the man who had saved his life countless times, and who he’d like to say he’d saved in return. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just -”

Bruce was cut off by a yelp, as a stray spark of electricity shot up his arm. He stumbled backwards, Hulk rearing his head, and he felt his veins flush with green, but he needed control for this.

Hushing Hulk back down to the corner of his mind, Bruce cradled his injured arm, and began his journey again.

Calloused fingers brushed against the electrodes against Thor’s arms, cramped muscles strained as he brought himself to a tiptoe until the cold metal that had been fixed on to the back of Thor’s neck met his hand. 

He frowned in sympathy, in anger, and a whole lot of emotions he didn’t necessarily recognise at the moment.   
It shouldn’t have come to this. The negotiations should never have been able to reach this point - where strapping in a person, a friend, and harvesting their power was apparently an ok response. Bruce swore to himself that he would protect Thor, if he needed to. 

And it was about damn time to start fulfilling that promise. 

“So, I don’t know if you can hear me. Or if you’re even still in there. But, just in case you are, I need you to listen,” 

Bruce swallowed nervously, fingers latching on to the cold, unfeeling metal, tightening round it until he couldn’t grip any further. 

“You told me we were going to get out of here. That at the end of the day, we’d be at home, and things would be ok again. Now, I know you’re not a liar - at least, not to me. So I’m gonna hold you to that standard, and trust you not to kill me when I do this. Ok?”

Thor didn’t respond, but Bruce hoped that maybe it had helped.   
If any of it had reached him, he’d count it as a success in this point. Because the universe couldn’t be that cruel, could it? It wouldn’t force a barrier between them, and break it down, only for there to be another one in place.   
That couldn’t happen.  
No, Thor could always hear him. It was a perk of being Asgardian. Thor would hear him, and Bruce could hear him, too. 

He didn’t need a metal grate, or a buzzing of static to hear his spaceman. 

The storm was alive. Thor was alive. 

And they were getting out of here.

Bruce pulled, and the room was plunged into darkness. 

***

Things got a little foggy, after that. He remembered a few details - a warm body falling against him not long after the power had given out. Heavy, with veins that still retained a faint blue-ish glow, but warm. 

Hulk had taken over not long after that. Pulled the two of them out through the crumbling prison, and ok, maybe he’d smashed an office on the way. 

Ross hadn’t been there. Part of him was disappointed, but another was relieved. Honestly, he didn’t know if he could hurt anymore people. And Hulk seemed to share the same sentiment. A sense of exhaustion, that made him more than a little worried. Because this had been too close. The danger just a little too real - and sure, flying robots and aliens were also very real.   
But they’d faced those threats as a team.   
The Avengers, Revengers, whoever - there’d always been someone watching someones back. 

Here had been too vulnerable. For both of them. 

Thor hadn’t woken up just yet, at least, not fully. He’d stirred briefly when they’d gotten to something resembling a safehouse, but he hadn’t been making much sense. Not according to Bruce, anyway.

Hulk seemed to understand more than he did. Which was weird, considering he hadn’t been there for most of it. Bruce was used to doing the comforting, the shushing, being the calming voice and the mediating opinion.  
It was strange seeing Hulk do the same. Watching large green fingers brush through Thor’s hair, hearing low tones grumble words of reassurance. 

It was nice. But strange. 

Even stranger when Hulk had turned those words on Bruce, and insisted he get a proper nights rest. 

‘Hulk keep watch. Banner sleep.’

Bruce had hesitated, feeling the overwhelming urge to fidget with his hands that only really resulted in Hulk twitching his fingers. 

‘You’re sure you’re gonna be ok?’ 

‘Hulk fine. Banner sleep.’ 

‘Alright, but if you need anything -’

‘Banner sleep.’

‘Ok. But only for a bit.’   
He paused, taking one last look through the small viewing window he was able to find.   
Thor was asleep, too. Nestled in Hulk’s arms, face pressed somewhere between the crook of his elbow - thick, green skin stifling loud snores like the rolling of thunder. 

‘Night, Hulk.’

‘Night, Banner.’


End file.
